McGoon’s Last Book:  Daily Typewriting

 

 

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MCGOON’S LAST BOOK:  DAILY TYPEWRITING.  March 8 – April 5.  33,000 words.  Black McGoon lists 35 day-jobs he held in 43Ľ years as a writer.  He describes each job briefly.  Then he comments on the form the book took.  He combines poetry, prose vignettes, and short nonfiction pieces, reviews of CDs, DVDs, television programs, movies, art exhibits, plays, chili cook-offs, mullet-fries, oyster shuckings, with homemade pepper vinegar and liquid pepper seasoning (hot sauce).  Habańero peppers.  The hot sauce is called Holy Ghost Fire.  The Buzzard Cult was a mortuary complex based on interment of the dead.  McGoon called his coterie of steadfast readers the Buzzard Cult, after the Southeastern Ceremonial Complex, a revitalization movement that swept the Lower Mississippi Valley just before and after European contact.  McGoon is a cult writer.  Low-one-, mid-one-figure.  A cult is small.  That’s what cult means.  Exclusive.  Clued-in.  Will McGoon break out, into a wider acceptance?  It wasn’t likely.  New York shreds his query letters unread.  He is alone in his private glory, like Henry Miller, when he came back to the United States from Greece and wrote about Big Sur and the oranges of Hieronymous Bosch.  John M. Bennett called his book fishing stories.  The book was shredded by the Mall Builder culture.  I wrote New York but my letter was shredded, unread.  They are busy people.  They are about the culture’s business.  Building malls and stocking them with merchandise.  Glittering, fancy, slicker that owl shit, and it has mucus in it.  Read it online.  No, wait.  His email was hacked and you can’t do that.  His life has been shredded.  It is in tatters.  He’s sending out distress calls.  Mayday, mayday.  M’aidez!  Aidez moi!  Help!  Help me!  Ha ha, the last shreds fade, like a plastic bag full of grass clippings for Brenda’s chickens.  In Fort Walton Beach, America’s most patriotic city.  Live near the commissary and the base hospital.  From every house a blue light glows.  The movie-of-the-week.  The Stepford Wives.  McGoon doesn’t seem to care if he breaks out or not.  He can always send fliers, four-page sheets, and self-published pamphlets to the Buzzard Cult.  He will get decorated letters back.  By return mail.  Addressed to Jack the Raver.  Zombie Santa—you can’t give the people Zombie Santa.  It’s sacrilegious.  Christmas is the Feast of Bad Conscience.  Christmas is holy.  It’s business.  McGoon puts the Little Jumping Jesus back in Christmas.  The mullet culture!  Newgrass.  The Newgrass Revival.  Boggy Bayou Mullet Festival.

 

 

 


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